


10-20-40

by jisoomes



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dark issues discussed, Effie-centric, possible tw for drugs alcohol & suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jisoomes/pseuds/jisoomes
Summary: Effie-centric following her through Mockingjay & Post-mj.
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	10-20-40

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Just a warning before you start that this might be the meanest thing I'll ever post, make sure you read the tags if you have any tw or if you're worried about that stuff, feel free to skip reading this. I don't usually write about triggering topics so please air on the side of caution just in case I haven't tagged things right :)

**_10_ **

Effie watches in the near darkness as Haymitch moved between her legs.

The sensation was weird.

It was like she could feel him yet she couldn't at the same time. She felt detached from her body, watching them together and feeling the _memory_ of them instead of _living_ the moment.

She felt numb.

The pleasure was building but it was distant. Her mind wasn't working with her body and so she could only watch him above her with frustration, desperately trying to chase after it.

He was gentle and it wasn't helping matters.

There was a time when he would be rough, he would _fuck_ her so hard that it was impossible to keep a grip on her mind. Effie could remember it so perfectly... It had been an addicting sensation. A momentary break from the games and their tributes. A few minutes where there was just pleasure and _him._

It had made her feel safe.

Now she simply felt uneasy.

Things had changed between them. He hadn't said much but he was crossing all the lines he used to insist on. He _always_ slept in bed with her now. He kissed her, hugged her, held her... Haymitch treated her like she was something precious. Something he could not bear to lose.

Effie didn't know how she felt about that.

A part of her loved it. She had waited _so_ long for him to care about her. She had longed so badly for him to cherish her. She could remember how much she would imagine him rescuing her, falling in love with her and taking her back with him...

Now she wasn't quite sure how she felt about them anymore.

He hadn't pressured her for sex again however Effie had felt pressured. Sex was the whole basis for whatever relationship they had now. And the unfamiliar way Haymitch was treating her made her eager for it. They weren't good at communicating. They had always relied on sex to work through problems.

Haymitch stills for a moment, adjusts his grip on her thighs...

He is getting frustrated, she can tell. And a pang of guilt hits her when she realises she wasn't responding to him. She has just been lying there still for however long it had been. Worse, she can't even say how long it had been, a few minutes? _Ten?_

"You wanna stop?" He asks. His voice isn't rough or breathless. Nothing like it used to be before. He isn't enjoying himself much either, clearly.

"No," she whispers quickly. Hesitantly, he begins to move again. Effie takes a deep breath and pulls him closer, trying to feel his skin on hers. Hoping it would wake up her senses, make her feel less _numb._

He seems to get the idea, shifts forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. He goes back to a regular pace and Effie tries to focus on the pleasure. To focus on the sensation of his lips on hers...

It isn't very successful.

When Haymitch finally collapses on her, she can't hold back the flinch. There's no disguising the recoil from Haymitch either when he rolls off of her quickly after that, careful not to steal the sheets. She's grateful because she's not confident about her naked body anymore, not with all the scars.

They don't talk and for a moment Effie is taken back to before. When they'd tumble into a bed together by sheer miracle and it would be rough and quick and _toxic._ When he'd stay for a moment after they'd finished, stare up at the ceiling with her. Before the brief bliss they'd just brought upon themselves dispersed and he'd jump out of bed as if she had shocked him...

She almost expects him to get dressed and leave. But it's different now because they're sharing a room and there's nowhere for him to go.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually. His voice is sincere. "I shouldn't have done that." He regrets it. She can hear it in his voice. And it creates an aching pain in her chest but Effie swallows back whatever she's feeling and tries her best to sound neutral.

"Shouldn't have done what?" She asks. It's harder than it used to be to play dumb. The act feels so foreign now. Everything feels foreign...

"We shouldn't have slept together, you're still recovering." He runs a hand over his face and sighs. She can just about make out the shame on his face in the light spilling through the open curtains.

"I wanted to," she tells him. Because she knows he'll beat himself up if he thought he forced her. And because it felt important somehow, to let him know that she wanted him.

"You didn't like it," he spits out bitterly. And Effie realises quickly that she's not the only one who's hurting after what they've just done. She had hoped sex would bring them closer but it seems like it has done the opposite.

"I did." She whispers. Haymitch snorts like it's a lie and turns to study her face. It doesn't feel like a lie, she _did_ like it in a way. Even if it didn't feel the same as it once did, the smell of him, the familiar weight of him on top of her had been nice. Even though her body didn't cooperate with her mind, she had liked it.

She turns her face to look him in eyes, to hold his gaze.

And then, tentatively he moves closer. She's a little scared that if he holds her, it'll bring her back. To all the times she huddled closer to Johanna, to keep warm and to bring each other comfort. But when his arms wrap around her, she instinctively relaxes.

It's not hard to drift off to sleep but it's hard to stay asleep. She wakes up several times. Her breathing fast and her ears pounding, but that's nothing new, Haymitch tightens his hold and strokes her hair. Whispers softly words she can't understand against her hair and it helps her feel better...

She wakes up alone eventually, his side of the bed is cold and she assumes Haymitch has gone running errands.

Effie dresses quickly because she knows if she doesn't, she won't leave at all. It's all too easy to isolate herself now. To lock herself in a room and never see anybody again. A part of her longs for it but she refuses to let more of her life be stolen from her so she forces herself to go out every day.

There's not much to do, sometimes she'll go for a walk in the gardens outside the mansion, she'll visit the kids and she'll pretend to be fine to the doctors and nurses gently probing on her well-being. 

When she comes back, Haymitch is lying on the bed cradling a bottle at his side.

"Bad day?" She asks. Her hands shake with anxiety when she moves to undo the buttons of her blouse - the fabric is cheap but it's pink and flowery and Haymitch gave it to her so she appreciates it. The skirt comes down easily afterwards, it's a size too big and the tucking of her blouse was the only thing keeping it up.

"Average," Haymitch shrugs. "You?" He hasn't looked at her since she opened the door and he doesn't expect for her to toss a leg over him. He doesn't react to her being half-naked, his eyes stay very focused on her face and she pretends it doesn't throw her off. Doesn't cause her insecurity to rear its ugly head... "You're okay?"

"I want you." Effie doesn't give him a chance to protest, she captures his lips in a needy kiss. Does all the things that used to drive him mad... She feels better than yesterday, more ready. She knows what to expect and there's a deep tension in her bones that calls for her to relieve it.

"Effie," He begs and she grins against his lips because she _loves_ it when he begs... Until he puts his hands on her hips and stops her movements. "We should stop."

"I don't think we should," she paints a teasing smile on her face to match her tone and tries to move again, to rock her hips, to remind him of what he wants... He's not hard yet but she knows she can get him there, it's never been that difficult before. "I want you," she repeats because he used to _go crazy_ when she told him things like that. Her mouth finds his neck and she plants kisses down the length, her hand wrapping around the other side.

"I want to stop." He says quickly and she freezes. "I don't want to do this."

It is as if he tips ice water over her head. Her entire body pulls back at once and she's off his lap in a second, desperately reaching for her clothes on the floor...

"Come on, Effie. Don't be like that," Haymitch says and it's too much.

"It's fine," she replies but it's not fine. It's far from fine. Because ever since they've been together again he hasn't shown an interest in having sex with her at all. And then last night... Last night was awful. Nice but confusing, so many emotions and questions left unanswered... And now he's rejecting her and it's _too much._

"Is there someone else?" She has to ask before she drives herself insane with all the possibilities. It seems the most logical, that he has found somebody else, a district woman perhaps. Someone he related to more. Someone who was his type. Someone who doesn't have all the baggage she does... Someone who's naturally beautiful - a trait she never possessed even before the scars...

Perhaps he was debating leaving her and last night convinced him.

"No!" He gets out of bed and places his hands on her arms. It's comforting, Effie hates that she finds it so reassuring. "There's nobody else I just..." He trails off and she pulls out of his embrace with a huff, reaching for her jacket. "Where are you going?" He asks quickly, his voice is full of worry. When she turns to face him, his face is too.

"Is it because of me?" He doesn't answer straight away and the look that passes across his face... "It _is._ " She feels sick for a minute. Effie's never had her advances rejected before and that hurts enough. But from Haymitch... She has always allowed herself to be herself with him. There had been no acting or hiding behind her usual masks. She'd even shown him his bare face. Everything she has done with him has been genuine and the rejection hurt so badly.

Her mother's voice is playing in her head, reminding her how naive she is. About how nobody will want her because she isn't good enough. That she's too much of a romantic. That nobody could love _anybody_ completely as they were... That's why you had to pretend in this world.

"No," Haymitch denies quickly but the damage is done. "No it's _me,_ sweetheart. I just want to wait a little bit."

"For what?" She questions bitterly. "The only thing that's changed is me." Tears fill her eyes but she hastily blinks them away. She will not cry, not in front of him. Effie has given him enough of her, she will keep her dignity.

"Everything's bloody changed!" He throws his arms up in the air in frustration. He eyes her jacket in her hands and reaches for it. "Put that back." He orders and she bristles at his harsh tone. "I'm going for a walk, yeah? You stay here, order something for dinner." He grabs his jacket and leaves in record speed.

Effie debates ordering some food as he said but she isn't hungry and a part of her just wants to sleep. So she heads to the dresser to get out something to wear that night but as she's changing, her eyes are drawn to the mirror.

She hasn't looked at herself much since the rescue. They had to cut her hair and she's never liked short hair on her face. She can't find makeup anywhere. All she has is some cherry-coloured lipgloss and an admittedly pretty pink blush Haymitch found. She can barely bring herself to use it because she can only wash her face with water and she can't stand the feeling of her skin being dirty. She barely could before the war, but now it took her right back to the cells. How her make up had sat on her face for at least a few days, until they decided to pour water on her and Johanna. Until they...

She shakes her head of the memory, it's all too easy to slip into that state again. Too easy to allow herself to be overtaken by the sensations. To take herself back to the cell.

Instead, her eyes trace her face in the mirror. Her skin isn't as clean and healthy as it used to be and her cheeks have lost a lot of their weight. Her face looks old and tired. She should be appalled but when she carries her gaze down, she can't help but feel like it _matches_.

She hasn't gained much weight, it hasn't been that long since her capture and she's never been good at gaining weight. Stood like she is in the mirror, she can see how her breasts don't fill the bra she's been given. She never had much to begin with, but she's practically flat now. She can count all of her ribs, her hipbones stick out unappealingly and her legs are _awful._

There's nothing desirable there. She knew, deep down, she already knew this. But looking at herself so bare, so honestly. There's nothing attractive. _No wonder Haymitch isn't interested._

For a moment she watches herself, then she feels herself begin to shake and she turns around. Pulling on the top and shorts she usually wore to bed and regretting not asking for bottoms because she's suddenly so insecure of her legs that she doesn't even want to look at them.

She climbs into bed quickly buries herself in the blankets and tries to forget everything that has happened but it doesn't work. His smell is all over the sheets and she's not tired.

Haymitch comes back a good hour later. Effie expects him to smell of alcohol but instead, he smells of the outside. When he climbs in beside her, making sure he didn't accidentally touch her, she curls up a little tighter and fakes sleep.

"I just wanna take things slow, Effie. There's nobody else, nobody to blame. I just want to _build_ something." He says to her back. She debates continuing to fake sleep, but surely he already knows? Unless he has a habit of speaking to her back while she sleeps. "I know you're awake." That confirms it then.

Effie doesn't move for a minute but then she rolls onto her back and stares at him. Haymitch is propped on an elbow, still wearing his shirt and trousers. He meets her eyes and it's like everything stops. The look in his eyes... It's the same as before, on the Tour when they would spend hours getting lost in each other's skin. The look she had loved and hated. One she convinced herself meant nothing but everything depending on her mood...

She's the first to look away. To tear her eyes from his and to the headboard of the bed because if she didn't, she doesn't think she would ever move again. She wanted to drown in him. To lose herself completely.

"You don't find me attractive anymore," she whispers. He sighs and shakes his head but she doesn't look at him directly. She doesn't want to see him lie to her. Not after all the affection in his previous gaze. She doesn't want to see him admit the _truth_.

"Of course I do, don't be stupid," he scoffs. "You're fucking gorgeous sweetheart. A new haircut and a couple of lost pounds don’t change that." It was the nicest thing he had ever told her and she can't blink away the tears. " _Fuck,_ it's supposed to be a compliment princess..."

"Do you mean it?"

"I'm not in the habit of lying to you to protect your ego," he chuckles. Her fingers dab at the tears and her eyes finally meet his. _He's telling the truth._

"I want to build something too," she nods, her tears have slowed so she reaches her hand out, holds his cheek tenderly.

"Good," he replies with a smile. A rare, tender smile that warms Effie from the inside out. For a moment, he holds her wrist gently and then he turns his head. Presses a soft kiss against the skin. "Let me get out of these and then we should get some sleep."

The whole time he undresses, she watches him. She can't shake the smile off of her lips, she is just _so_ happy.

_He's hers._ The thought is so compelling she repeats it again and again...

"Yeah," he murmurs when he's down to just his underwear.

"Hmm?" Effie hums absentmindedly. He pulls the covers back, shuffles closer to her. Wrapping his arms tight around her and squeezing when he answers.

"Yeah, I am." He kisses that spot just under her ear and presses his face into her neck.

Effie falls asleep in bliss.

**_20_ **

For a while, things are good. She still has nightmares and he still drinks but they manage and they begin to build something healthy. Effie feels hope slowly come back to her.

They talk about the future. It was something they'd never allowed themselves to do before this war. They talk about houses and pets and which district they'd like to settle in. They argue about the colour of the sofa and whether they're going to have an electric or a stove kettle...

Then Katniss' trial draws to an end. Haymitch leaves shortly after that.

Effie doesn't find out until he's about to go.

There's no discussion, no talk about what's going to happen to them. No talk about what going to happen with Peeta, either. Just Haymitch coming in, packing his bags. Ranting about Katniss' mother and other nonsense...

When he kisses her and tells her not to be a stranger, Effie isn't sure how to take it. And later that night, when she's alone for the first time since she had gotten out of the hospital, she loses it.

It's not completely because of Haymitch's absence. The anxiety has been building for weeks. Constant battling with triggers and having to pretend and play the part of being fine for the children. The relief only ever came when she snuggled up to Haymitch late at night. When she could cry silently and he wouldn't say anything, when he would stroke her hair or tell her meaningless things about his day. If it was really bad, he'd trap her into a discussion about their future, distracted her by suggesting some terrible colour he wanted to paint the kitchen...

But that is all it will ever be now. A discussion. He can't abandon Katniss, she knows that. She'd do the same if she could. But a part of her, the selfish part, wishes he would've chosen her. _Thought of her,_ perhaps. Offered for her to come with them. She isn't sure she would have accepted, but the offer would've been nice.

Coming home to an empty and quiet apartment sets her on edge. She hasn't been alone properly since she left the hospital. At least for no more than a few hours. The silence is deafening to her, the sound of every footstep and movement as she takes off her coat is echoed in her ears.

She turns the TV on with impatience and paces around her kitchen, opening empty cupboards and pretending to be busy. Talking to herself in mutters to combat the anxiety she can feel. As if it was a shadow looming behind her, breathing against her neck. She ignores it, hoping that if she chooses not to turn around, acknowledge its presence... It won't exist.

Eventually, she finds some pasta and emptys some into a saucepan. She's not a great cook and even if she was, her cupboards are empty. Haymitch had often brought back dinner or made it himself. But she could make pasta and sauce well enough.

"I'll have to go grocery shopping," she tells herself aloud. When that doesn’t make her feel better she presses her palms against the kitchen counter and sighs... 

She is too nervous to leave the pasta cooking alone because she isn't quite sure what is doing in the kitchen, she was a little afraid it would somehow find a way to spontaneously combust.

She has been putting off grocery shopping anyway, firstly because she has hardly done it before. It was easier to get things delivered unless she fancied dolling herself up. Secondly, because she isn't sure what is going on with her finances. Her wallet had been taken when she was arrested and she doesn't know where it ended up... She will have to speak to her bank. Or Plutarch.

She kills time finding the pasta sauce and before long she has everything cooked and warm. 

Usually, she eats at the island or table - it is only proper after all. But that day she takes the plate to the sofa, flicks through the channels for a semi-entertaining show. It is mostly old reruns or the news. She settles on a rerun of a ridiculous game show.

Her dinner ends up half-finished and abandoned on her coffee table before long and the loneliness begins to kick in again.

She debates calling Haymitch. Checking in on him. But he had left so suddenly, it has rattled her. If he rings her, she will pick up and she would make time for them. She will leave the ball in his court, she decides.

When she goes to bed that evening, she spends most of the hours staring at the ceiling, feeling far too big in her bed all alone. And imagining what she will say when Haymitch calls.

He never calls.

She pretends it doesn't bother her. Bustling between visiting Peeta and working. The latter had been found for her by Plutarch.

Effie wasn't sure whether that was Haymitch's doing, it felt like charity and every part of her wanted to protest but at the end of the day, she needed a steady income.

The job offer makes sense when she got a letter in the mail, informing her that most of her money was gone. Missing, they said. But she knows better.

She doesn't dare confront Plutarch as to whether he knew they had been planning that. She doesn't dare reach out to Haymitch or her family for some kind of help.

Instead, she packs up her apartment. Moves into a cheap place and decides that it is time she begins to build her life back up.

She changes her number then, finally accepts that Haymitch is never going to call and that whatever they had, was over.

Slowly, a routine is created. Every morning she shows up at work, late afternoon she visits Peeta and then she will stop on the way back to shop at stores. Window shop or buy something to decorate her flat. Before coming home and getting ready for bed.

Despite the aching in her chest every time Peeta mentioned Katniss, despite the nightmares and anxiety that kept her up all night sometimes... Effie finds a balance. She begins to feel more and more like _herself_.

**_40_ **

In late fall, Peeta gets discharged.

"Don't cry," He chuckles as she fusses with his coat at the train station. "Effie... You can always come and visit, you know."

"Do not be silly," she refutes. "I am much too busy here..." Her hands still their movement and she steps away from the boy with a soft smile. "Have a safe journey, darling. I am only on the other end of the phone if you need me..."

"I will call you," Peeta promises. "Maybe next summer you could come and visit... I am sure Katniss and Haymitch would like to see you." At the mention of Haymitch, her chest aches a little but Effie blinks away any of her feelings.

"Perhaps," she offers. Her brain is running to think of an excuse, but she is saved by the arrival of his train. "You have to go..." Peeta glances behind himself and smiles at her.

"I will call you," he assures, she drops a kiss on his cheek before she can help herself and he embraces her quickly before he rushes off to get on the train.

Effie watches, torn between her emotions. Happy - _proud_ \- of him and the progress he has made. Even slight envy at the knowledge that Katniss, and Haymitch, will be there in Twelve waiting for him. Ready to reunite again and build a new life together...

As she walks home, Effie's stomach twists and turns in anxiety. At the realisation that she is finally alone in the city again dawns upon her. No Peeta to visit, no Haymitch waiting for her back at her apartment.

She can feel it, the tension and anxiety behind her once again. Tears well up in her eyes whenever she so much as thinks about it too long. The pathetic urge to throw her arms and legs around in a tantrum, half hoping somebody will come and help her because she feels lost all of a sudden.

_Don’t be a baby._ Eyes bright, chins up, smiles on. She repeats the mantra in her head and decides it's about time she embraces the old Effie Trinket again.

And so, she gets home and adorns herself in the fanciest dress she can find. Fixes her hair and puts on - what Haymitch would call - a ridiculous amount of makeup...

When she stares at her reflection in the mirror that night, she smiles. And it doesn't feel completely wrong anymore.

She heads out. Finds a party. Drinks too much and pretends she's celebrating her new freedom. Her independence. It's easier to pretend under the colourful lights and thumping music. It's easy to lose herself in the crowd of people.

When she stumbles home that night, she is asleep within minutes. It's the first full night's sleep she has had in months.

It soon becomes addicting, Effie goes from partying every weekend to every weekday. And it feels like before, back when she didn't have nightmares and a job. Back before she got involved with Haymitch even.

And strangely, each time she wakes up with her head pounding, she feels a little closer to Haymitch. Effie doesn't look too closely into that feeling. Or particularly analyse the fact that she orders whiskey on the days she misses him the most.

Eventually, her boss starts throwing her concerned looks every time she comes in late. His mouth open, hesitating to say something but ultimately choosing not to. She grows tired of the judgement quickly. And she doesn't hesitate when a new acquaintance offers her something to keep her up all night.

It's the first time since the 74th Hunger Games that she has felt motivated.

Peeta stops calling, or perhaps she stops answering. All Effie knows is that her phone stops ringing and she stops caring. She stops caring about anything that isn't the next party.

Her life becomes a blur of partying and work. Of staying up for days at a time only to knock herself out with alcohol at the weekend. The only sober moments consisting of nightmares or anxiety. Shaky hands bringing another pill to her lips.

Before long, her boss grows tired of her showing up late or high and fires her. But Effie finds she doesn't care at all. She devotes her newfound free time to shopping.

She begins to feel like the old Effie Trinket again.  
And she loves it.

**_numb_ **

At the sight of her bank statement, Effie feels as if a bucket of cold water has been poured over her head.

She has never seen her account in the negative before and it insights a panic she has never felt before. An adrenaline rush as if someone is about to pull the floor out from underneath her...

First on her agenda is to start looking for a job. It hadn't seemed so important when she had first been fired. She had been doing a good job saving most of her money, set on mostly getting herself back to where she once was.

But that _had_ gone out of the window in the last few months. She had splurged a lot on new dresses and shoes. Not to mention lots of drinks...

Her second was to find some money to get her by for now. She mentally reviewed her options and then promptly checked her address book. She wouldn't ask Plutarch for anything, perhaps he would have lent her money but Effie hated to owe that man anything. Her family... She hadn't spoken to them since the end of the war and it hadn't been particularly nice. She couldn't blame them considering she had been ignoring their calls well before the Katniss and Peeta even won...

At the thought of the children, she once again thinks of Haymitch. He would lend her money without objection, she was sure. But that was under the assumption they were even friends still. _If_ friends were the right word to describe them...

She didn't want to breach that problem yet so she steered herself back to her current acquaintances.

Her new friends, she finds. Are all too happy to help. They didn't hesitate to lend her the money she offered and when Effie told them she would pay them back as soon as she could they tell her not to stress about it.

It is such a genuine answer that it comforts her. She knew they didn't have a lot of money themselves. And the selflessness gave her some motivation to get her life back on track. She felt supported.

The Capitol she was used to was a power game. Admitting you needed help with anything was admitting weakness. If she had asked for money then she would have been treated as if she were a charity case. Patronised at the very least and exploited at the most when it came to the issue of paying somebody back.

In the weeks that followed, the newfound optimism and drive slowly began to fade. She applies for job after job with not even an interview. She finds herself avoiding her new friends out of embarrassment.

By the end of the month, she has run out of money and there was no way she was going to be able to pay for rent. She glances at the phone again, debating just biting the bullet and calling her family. If she laid on the helplessness enough, perhaps she could convince them.

Her parents street is mostly unchanged from the war and as Effie passes all the big houses, she can't help but feel insecure about her tiny little apartment that she can't afford. When she enters the front garden she is struck by the sheer normalcy of the place. The bushes are as trimmed as always and the grass is perfect. If you'd have looked at this street only, you'd have never guessed there had been a war a year ago...

Given the big windows onlooking the garden that Effie knew her mother had a habit to peek out of, she expected the door to open almost immediately after she knocked. But she remained standing there for several minutes.

She has the distinct feeling she was being watched and she swallows down that panic. Her parents wouldn't refuse to open the door. Not when the whole street could see.

Sure enough, the door swings open after a couple more seconds and Effie is faced with the familiar face of the doorman. She’s surprised he’s managed to keep his job.

"May I speak to my mother and father, please?" There's an awkward pause and a glance behind to the left before the doorman nods briefly and leaves her at the door. She suspects her parents are right there, listening in. And she must be right because two minutes later she is ushered in.

The hallway is the same as always, and if it weren't for the uncomfortable way in which her parents were standing at the bottom of the stairs, she'd have thought she had gone back in time.

"Was there something you wanted, Euphemia?" Her mother asks after a moment of staring. She, at least, doesn’t look as good as she used to. Her face is clearly older, perhaps her dermatologist didn’t make it through the war. 

Effie debates her answer carefully.

"I would like to ask a favour," she says gently. The air is thick as she waits for a reply. And just like that, she knows she hasn't chosen the right one.

"Of course you do," her mother scoffs. "Did you finally get tired of your victors?" 

The mention of Haymitch and the children hurt but Effie clenches her jaw and keeps her cool.

"My apologies if you have felt ignored, mother."

"Ignored?" Her mother scowls, her pitch turns ear piercing and her father winces slightly. "You have not spoken to us since the Quell. The whole street has been talking about you and your rebellion. It was mortifying." 

"I am sorry," Effie answers honestly because she _is_. Her mother looks pained and given the way her father hasn't looked in her direction once it isn't hard to believe they were genuinely upset.

"Very well." As if a switch has been flicked, her mother's face is back to being irritated. "What do you want?"

"I need to borrow some money." There was a moment of complete silence before her mother burst out laughing. The laughter was bitter, the kind she had heard many times when she used to make fun of an acquaintance behind their backs.

"Did you hear that, darling?" Her mother nudges her father, still chuckling. "She is here for _money_."

"Yes..." her father mumbles, looking torn. He opens his mouth to continue but her mother beats him to it.

"You want to borrow money, Euphemia?" 

Effie nods slowly, uneasy with the way she had been received. She had expected to grovel and beg. Not... this.

Her mother lifts an eyebrow. "Well, why don't you go and ask your Victors? Or did they finally get bored with you too?" 

Her father mutters a warning but it went unheard. 

"You publicly embarrassed us frolicking off with your drunkard. And then, you cannot even be bothered to call! Why is it that _he_ can not lend you the money? Has he spent all of his funds on liquor?" Her mother's face turns hard and icy. She lifts her eyebrow again when the silence stretches for too long.

Effie's mind began to race, eagerly searching for the best way to play it...

"I-" She starts only to abruptly close her mouth. She swallows hard and tries again. "We are not together, Mother. I don't know what you have heard..."

"Then where have you been, pray tell?" Her mother hisses. "We were interviewed you know, peacekeepers came and interrupted our evenings to question us. As if we were criminals. It was humiliating. The street was talking about it for months."

There were so many replies on the tip of her tongue. From spilling the truth to running along with her mothers lies. But in the end, once Effie studies her parents faces. Once she realises with a resigned sigh that they would not help her, she simply nods.

"I did not come here to argue," she tells them. "This was a bad idea. I will see myself out." As if on command, Effie can hear the doorman fiddling with the door behind her.

If her mother is disappointed with her lack of fight, she doesn't show it. But she does make a big show of pulling out a note from her purse.

"Perhaps you can use it to find another sleaze to leech off of," her mother says. Every bone in Effie's body wants to protest but she is so desperate for money... She takes the meagre note and chokes out a thank you.

That surprises her mother and Effie bites her tongue not to make a comment about how she’s done worse. How her dignity is so far gone by now...

Outside, she peeks the movement of curtains from across the road. She won't be visiting her parents anytime soon it seems. They will probably leave her outside next time.

The conversation plays in her mind as she walks back to her apartment. The note is fiddled between her hands the whole time, her mind is desperate to think of a way to stretch it out and pay the rent that month.

_Perhaps you can use it to find another sleaze to leech off of_. Her mother's voice rings in her head and by the time she makes it back to her apartment, Effie had finds a solution.

It won't be much different than sleeping with sponsors, she tells herself as she dolls herself up for the night. She will find a dingy bar. The kind Haymitch used to love to spend time in. The kind that is full of desperate men. She is not much to look at anymore but with the right dress and a heavy layer of foundation...

She is jittery when she found a bar that fit the bill. She hands over the only money left in her purse for a glass of whiskey with a lump in her throat so big she struggled to sip. She crosses her legs carefully and tries her best to look appealing. It isn't as easy as it used to be. It isn’t even as easy as it was a few weeks prior. Her act feels rusty, and a quick glance at some of the other women at the bar only makes her more insecure.

They weren't hiding scars under their cheap dresses. They weren't damaged goods.

She watches two of them go off with men before anybody approaches her. And only then did she look down at the practically empty cup and contemplate giving up.

"You're busy?" A voice from behind her asks. And when she finds herself faced with a man she shakes her head.

He sits next to her and studies her glass before he asks her how much. And she feels her cheeks burn a little when she replies.

The man doesn't notice though. He pulls out his wallet and smiles when he hands over the money. He has a nice smile, she thinks. He's not Effie's usual type. He is tan and about her age, in the bad lighting of the bar, she can just about see his bloodshot eyes...

When he asks if she wants to go somewhere quieter she quickly agrees, downing the last part of her drink and sliding off her chair eagerly. Quieter turns out to be the alley behind the bar but Effie doesn't care. She lets him pin her to the wall easily enough. He places his hands on her waist and when he leans in to kiss her, she meets his lips after a shaky breath.

The whole ordeal is unfamiliar. His weight, his taste, his smell... Her body keeps tensing up, going back to her cell. When they would loom over her and threaten to...

She breaks the kiss with a sudden jerk and bumps her head against the brick wall. The man doesn't seem to notice, he just leans down to kiss her jaw. His hand drifts down to her thigh, grazing up and down gently.

There are dark spots in her vision, she feels as if she could pass out at any moment. Her breathing is uneven and it feels like she can't get a proper breath. Every time she blinks, she feels the hard walls of her cell behind her instead of the biting brick. She feels someone's hands pressing her into the grey wall by her throat...

The man is pushed off without any hesitation and he stumbles. Effie's throat feels like it's burning from where he has touched it. It wasn't a heavy touch, a perhaps he was trying to guide her head. She isn't sure. She wasn't completely sure what was going on a moment ago.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammers when faced with the man's frown. "I don't think I can do this." The words tumble out before she can stop them and she abruptly hands him back the money.

"You should keep it," the man pushes the notes back into her hand. "Clearly you need it." 

Shame washes over her and she's about to insist when his hand reaches to pat her shoulder clumsy and whether it be out of mortification or fear, Effie flees.

Her head is pounding as she stumbles back into the street. There are tears in her eyes and her heart is beating rapidly in her chest. It feels like she can't take a deep breath and the whole gravity of the situation finally catches up to her.

She checks her phone and finds several texts and missed calls. Her friends are asking about their money and it only aids to Effie's anxiety.

The walk home is nauseating and when she spots a pharmacy, she doesn't hesitate to go in. She is desperate to sleep away this night, she is desperate for something to give before she finds herself stuck. The rest of her mother's money covers the sleeping pills. The man's money sits heavy in her purse, a reminder she doesn't want. And as much as she wants to throw it out, she can't afford to get rid of it.

That choice is taken out of her hands when she spots her friends at her door.

"You've got my money?" Eira asks frantically. Her green eyes are blown wide and she can't seem to stay still for a moment. It's not hard to guess that she's high.

"I..." Effie trails off, looking anxiously at the friend behind her. "I don't have it all yet."

"What do you have?" Her friend insists. "I will take whatever you have." She reaches for her purse but Effie pulls away.

"No, I don't have anything to give you right now," she argues. "I'm sorry but..."

"You've got to have something," Arista chimes in, stepping forward. They're sober or so Effie thinks. And she’s so tall, Effie feels intimidated when she towers over her...

"I need my money now, Effie." This time, when Eria reaches for her purse, Effie is too slow to pull away and they pull out the last two notes with a manic grin.

"This is enough," A tells her. "Right, Rist?" Arista nods as if Effie has just presented them the world and snatches the money before she can protest.

"Thanks," they say cheerfully as they make their way back down the hallway. Effie watches for a moment with disappointment pooling in her stomach before she pushes open her door.

She locks it tightly just in case they decide to come back and presses herself tightly against the door when she's finished. She takes a few breaths that do nothing to calm her and rushes to the table to empty her bag. There's not a lot that falls out onto the counter. A pack of mints, her empty purse, a pen and the bottle of pills.

Effie doesn't hesitate to open it up. The sharp taste of the tablet on her tongue when she takes too long to swallow is bitter but familiar. And she drags herself to the bathroom to get ready for bed before it kicks in.

The shower is hot like it hardly is anymore. So hot it almost hurts but it makes her feel better. The steam and the pill is clouding her thoughts just like she had hoped. 

She has always favoured cooler showers, partly because she often showered after working out. And partly because her mother had told her once it burns more calories. She wasn't sure the latter was true but when she had been at her most insecure, it was something she was willing to try if it helped.

Baths, however, had always been scathing hot. So hot she would often run cold water in if she had a feeling Haymitch would join her. Baths so hot her skin would be red afterwards. A way to force herself to relax because if she shifted about too much in the water it would hurt more. 

Baths during games time had always been an opportunity to hurt as she did inside. To feel her skin go numb and to stare at the ceiling pretending she couldn't see her tributes deaths replaying over and over in her head.

At the reminder of that time, she shuts off the water. There is a fog in her brain now, and she was certain that she'd be out like a light once she finishes brushing her teeth. Her skin feels too open and bare, as it usually did now she couldn't afford skincare. They'd be no toner or night cream for a while, she would have to make her peace with it.

Just as she thought, she drops off to sleep within a few minutes.

Waking up groggily is not unfamiliar these days, the drugs or alcohol had always resulted in a weird hangover that never quite went before she was indulging again. But the sleeping pill brings upon a familiar lethargy she has not felt in years.

Strangely, it makes her feel alive again. Like the old Effie Trinket.

It isn't long before she began to take one every night. Sometimes even two. Perhaps more, there are lapses in her memory, she can't always remember when she has and when she hasn't taken them. Sometimes she will force herself to sleep through worse days. Others, she will drink the day away. On those she often wonders when her luck would run out and when fate would finally catch up on her, waking up after those days was the worst.

The only way to recover from the worst days was to dress herself up and party again. Which usually led to her taking whatever her friends were offering, experiencing a high that felt practically impossible normally considering she was taking sleeping pills most of the time.

In a strange sense, it reminds her of her past self once again. When she would cancel out the sleeping pills by drinking lots of coffee. When she was hyperaware of what she ate and what she took. Everything had to be evened out. Any calorie replaced by the appropriate amount of exercise...

She had thought that was the worst time of her life, how ridiculous was that? She had looked back and considered that a struggle. The hardest time in her life...

The worst part about those days, by far. Was the level of guilt associated with them. Guilt that she is wishing her life away, asking whatever higher entity existed to take pity on her... Playing with fire because at least burning meant you felt something. Anything but the dull, hollow despair that seemed to have permanently settled over her head.

She stops looking for jobs.

There is no point, she doesn't get any interviews at all. Perhaps word has gotten around from her old boss, perhaps there are rumours. She doesn't know, she doesn't care. The old Effie would have been mortified to think about such things, to be so out the loop that she wouldn't know... But she doesn't care. She clings to her apartment and her shiny dresses. Her bright and heavy makeup - far too heavy for what current fashion dictated. Tries not to think about all the money she was spending, the overdraft on her bank. Held her breath every time she used her card...

She clings to the phone too.

After the worst days, she would wake up, guilt-ridden and desperate for a lifeline, hold the phone for hours. Imagining over and over in her head what it would be like to call the kids, to tell them everything and ask for help. Sometimes she imagines calling Haymitch, imagines whether he would come and get her. Or maybe he wouldn’t bother.

Maybe he had moved on... She wouldn’t know, she couldn’t remember the last time she rang the kids. It would explain why he hadn’t called, after all... They were supposed to be a team. And she knew Haymitch was nothing but loyal to his team. If he hadn’t called, there had to be a reason.

Like a new woman with perfect soft skin and who doesn’t nag too much and can sleep through a night without having nightmares... 

On the worst nights, she sits by the window and waits for the sun. Bottle of sleeping tablets in one hand and phone clutched tightly in the other. She almost always chooses the tablets.

The evening she gets a letter in the mail informing her she will be evicted, she finally chooses the phone. Her hands hesitate between calling the children or Haymitch but they are certain when they tap in the familiar numbers.

It rings and rings. And rings and rings. Each pause, she waits with bated breath to hear that click, to hear his voice. She wonders if she remembers it right, or perhaps she is just romanticising the sound in her head some nights.

She will never find out. He doesn’t pick up, and with quick anxious breaths, she dials the children on a whim.

The ringing starts again and Effie feels her hands begin to shake. Her vision blurs a little but she isn’t sure why. They’re probably busy. Maybe they are all together, doing something away from the house. Unlike the Capitol, they aren’t used to carrying around a mobile phone after all...

It doesn’t matter though. Somehow, Effie knows she will never find out. There is a finality when she finally gives up. When she finally lingers on the loneliness festering deep in her chest. The knowledge that at this very moment, she could do anything, and nobody would care.

Her hands close on the bottle of sleeping tablets and she takes one easily enough. There is a strange sense of peace when she takes another. And then another. Tears spill over and wet her cheeks and there's this new urgency running through her blood when she forces another one past her lips. Maybe if she sleeps through the next week, maybe if she knocks herself out for a little bit...

She spies a cheap bottle of wine and grabs it on her way to bed, the pills will take half an hour to work and the idea of existing for that long right now makes her want to pull her hair out.

Effie scrubs her face in between mouthfuls, not even bothering to change when she crawls into bed. She bumps into the walls and knocks over the lamp but in her drowsiness, it makes her giggle.

It’s been _so_ long since she laughed at something...

Her head is pounding when it hits the pillow and she curls up when her stomach starts to hurt...

She is so tired. So tired.

Effie closes her eyes and wills for sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Now that I'm looking at it, this end is very mean xD I promise it is not the end in this universe. Maybe I'll get around to writing a nice hurt comfort second part.  
> This was my lockdown angst back in March-June. And it seems fitting now I'm back in one that I post haha. The title and concept (I suppose you could call it that haha) are from Rina Sawayama's song '10-20-40', it's not really a song fic but I guess it helped inspire this so...  
> I can definitely promise there will be fluff after this, I don't want to write angst anytime soon now. I'm going to try and post a little more now that I have nothing better to do :) I hope you enjoyed this as much as you could, I don't usually write this kind of style so I am a ~little~ out of my comfort zone. Let me know what you think in the comments!


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